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And what if they had found the contraband compartments?
    “I’ll drop by the portmaster’s office as soon as my business is done,” Han promised. He now realized that this was why Ploovo Two-For-One had been so content. The loan shark hadn’t even had to violate criminal protocol or risk his own rank hide going against Han and Chewbacca; Ploovo had known the Millennium Falcon , under any name, would run afoul of these Authority regulations.
    “No good,” the Espo sergeant was saying. “My orders are to escort you down as soon as you’re found. The port-master wants this matter cleared up right away.” The Espos were suddenly more alert.
    Han’s smiled became pained and sympathetic. Platitudes of understanding rolled from him. Meanwhile, he considered his dilemma dispassionately. The Authority would want a full accounting of ship’s papers, log, master’s credentials. When those showed discrepancies, there’d be a full ID scan: pore patterns, retinal and cortical indexes—the whole routine. Eventually, they’d find out who Han and his first mate were, and then the trouble would really start.
    It was axiomatic to Han Solo’s philosophy that you never go one step closer to jail than necessary. But seated here, he could offer no decent resistance. He shot a glance at Chewbacca, who was amusing himself by showing his teeth to the wary Security Police in a frightening smile. The Wookiee caught Han’s look, though, and inclined his head slightly.
    Whereupon the pilot rose. “Shall we get this unpleasantness taken care of, then, Sergeant, so we can all go our way?” Chewie shuffled away from the table, his attention on Han, one paw on the sling of his bowcaster. Han leaned down for a last word with Ploovo.
    “Thanks for the good time, old colleague. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can, I promise. And before I forget, there’s your payment.” He flipped down the box’s front end and stepped back.
    Ploovo dug into the box, expecting to fill his itchy palm with wonderful, sensuous money. Instead, sharp little fangs clamped down on the fleshy part of his thumb. Ploovo screamed as the enraged Dinko swarmed out and sank its needlelike claws into his pudding of a stomach. Fastened to the Dinko’s dorsal vane was the Authority Cash Voucher, Han’s thoughtful way of repaying debts both financial and personal—with interest.
    The Espos’ attention switched to the table as the criminal boss howled. One of Ploovo’s henchmen tried to tear the Dinko off his employer while the others gaped. The Dinko wasn’t having any; it slashed the fumbling hands with the serrated spurs on its rear legs, then sprayed everyone at the table with vile squirts from its scent sac. Few things in nature are more repugnant than a Dinko’s defensive secretion. Men and humanoid fell back, coughing and gagging, forgetting their boss.
    The Security Police were trying to understand what was happening as beings stumbled from the table, lurching past them, leaving Ploovo to the mercies of the rabid little beast. The Dinko was now trying energetically—if overoptimistically—to devour him, starting with his nose, which rather reminded it of one of its many natural enemies.
    “ Yahhh! ” Ploovo complained, wrenching at the determined Dinko. “Ged it off of me!”
    “Chewie!” was all Han had time to yell. He punched the nearest Espo, not wanting to shoot at close quarters. The Espo, caught off guard, fell backward, thrashing. Chewie did better, picking up the other two by their harnesses and bashing them together helmet to helmet, eliciting a gonging sound from the ultrahard surfaces. Then the Wookiee ducked into the crowd with notable agility, following his friend.
    The Espos at the doors were unlimbering wide-bore, shoulder-fired blasters, but the confused crowd was milling around and no one had a clear idea yet of just what was going on. The antigrav dancers began alighting as beings raised their attention from assorted intoxicants,